


Unspoken

by SKEvans



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drabble, F/M, Hope, They Love Each Other OK, and i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKEvans/pseuds/SKEvans
Summary: It’s not the words that matter, not now.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 11
Kudos: 148





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little something for Jen—a million thank-you's for your art!

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**Unspoken**

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There’s something new and strange about the way his fingers trail along her skin. Something that awes him and something that scares him—maybe it’s the way the moonlight accents the paleness of her skin—

(She was so pale that time, wasn’t she? So pale and still and...)

—or maybe it’s how it brightens her scar in such a way that makes it unmissable, unforgettable. And it’s not that it has ever _been_ forgettable, not to him—but right now, for the first time, part of him does want it to be. He wants to focus on the sweetness of the moment, not on the bitterness of it. And yet—

Her eyes don't leave him as he loses himself in her—his touch is light, soft, but not hesitant. After all, there is nothing to be unsure of, not now. Still, as his hand reaches her scar, something deeply buried surges—only it’s not what it used to be. It’s not dark and manipulative, ready to twist his thoughts and make him dance on strings. Instead, it’s a softer kind of guilt. The kind where the pain and the regrets remain, but instead of drowning, he breaks through the surface and swims to shore. It makes him remember the good and not just the bad; it wraps around his shoulder in a comforting embrace, its touch unfamiliar but welcome. More than anything, he thinks of doing better and of trying harder as the weight of his emotions settles over him—towards others and towards himself and towards her.

His skin burns where their bodies are pressed against each other—a good pain, he thinks, something he wants to feel more and more. She stares, still, like she’s afraid this won’t last or it never was. And it’s what makes him wordlessly tell her he’s here, she’s here, they’re here—she leans her cheek against his inquisitive hand; her answer gives him more unspoken promises to keep and fulfill.

(He couldn’t keep it that time, didn’t he? Not in the way that matters to him; not in the way that was meant to be.)

But now—

Perhaps it seems easier to keep promises now, when everything is silence and love, but if there’s one thing he’s uncertain of, it’s this. Because to him, there is nothing easy about moving on from horror and heartbreak, from remorse and fear; there is nothing harder than carrying on past what made you what you are then and today and tomorrow. Because to him, it’s all unknown—it’s far from what he knows and far from what he ever imagined for himself. This is what is scary, he thinks, this quiet understanding, this deep kind of love; it’s like the way her skin felt beneath his fingers—strange and new, awing and terrifying.

Her scar still shines through the faint darkness of the room—unmissable and unforgettable—but it’s not the beacon of guilt it once was, and instead it brings to life determination and strength. To be there, in more ways than all ways; to be honest, for everything and nothing. His eyes meet hers, and in them the stars of their childhood are reflected, once again witness to a promise.

Her hand raises to drop on his chest, close to his heart, and it’s what he never knew he needed—just soft reassurances and tender touches. The firm press of her hand against his skin reveals what he needs to know—it’s not the words that matter, not now.

(After all, have they ever?)

—


End file.
